


At the Vos Air Show

by ultharkitty



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 07:02:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2141568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty/pseuds/ultharkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set on Cybertron a long time before the war, shortly after Blast Off started to work for Onslaught.</p><p> </p><p>Written to an anon prompt on Tumblr: Blast Off/Mirage - Last Friday Night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the Vos Air Show

"You didn't stay for the reception," Mirage commented, stepping out onto the balcony. 

Blast Off shrugged. A servitor drone approached him with a tray of drinks; he waved it away. 

Mirage leant against the railing, arms crossed. His rich paint glimmered with the lights of the air show. "I suppose you're not going to tell me why."

"I had other places to be," Blast Off replied. His head was raised, visor fixed on the sky. A flight of tetra jets swooped and tumbled against the stars, but the line of his gaze did not follow them.

"You're going away again," Mirage said flatly. "This always happens."

Blast Off sniffed. "What do you expect? I'm a shuttle, you're a-"

"An alpha," Mirage sneered. "Just the same as you, and I will thank you not to forget it."

"You're _planetbound_ ," Blast Off said. "This is a farce."

Mirage glared. "Excuse me?" He sauntered over, exaggerating the sway of his hips. "That isn't what you said last orn, or the orn before that. Or are you civil only when you need somewhere to dock your cables?"

The shuttle gave him the briefest of glances. "Don't be so vulgar."

"You want to talk about vulgar?" Mirage whispered. "How about your 'friend' in Altihex? Or that grey and teal rotary you just can't stop bumping into? They're not even alpha, and yet you dismiss _me_ simply because I can't fly in space?"

"It's different," Blast Off said. 

" _How_ is it different?"

Blast Off gave him a look, and it was so infuriatingly neutral that Mirage had the urge to strike him. "It just is," Blast Off replied. "You have expectations. They do not."

Mirage shook his head. "Expectations? Sigma help me. So you'll swap charge with _them_ , but you won't show your face at an important social engagement with me?" 

There was a pause, then Blast Off said, "Yes."

"You're impossible!"

"I told you," Blast Off said levelly, "I am not interested in that kind of relationship. I cannot be what you want. You're not space-capable, and even then..."

"Then why are we here?" Mirage demanded, flicking his hand to take in the hotel, the air show, the whole stupid situation. 

"Because I had wrongly assumed that you understood when I first explained myself," Blast Off huffed. "Because I came to believe that you might be interested in physical gratification with no expectation of emotional or social involvement. Was I wrong?"

"Well yes," Mirage said. "Maybe. It wasn't just a party, you _do_ know that?"

"I'm not like you. And yes, I am aware of the significance of that particular social engagement."

"You know, but you don't care, is that it?"

Blast Off nodded. He clicked his fingers, and the servitor drone reappeared, trundling up to Mirage. It removed a package from its chest compartment and held it up, chirring. 

"What's this?"

"A gift," Blast Off said. "Don't look so surprised. Yes, I am going into space. Yes, I will be gone for a deci-vorn, perhaps longer. No, it is not because of you, and no, I do not expect you to 'wait for me' or other such romantic nonsense."

Mirage took the gift, lifting the matte black lid of the box. The contents glowed. "But," he said slowly, as the scent reached his vents, "you _are_ interested in continuing our liaison, such as it is."

"Such as it is," Blast Off replied. 

A smirk appeared on Mirage's lips, and he popped one of the tiny gel cubes into his mouth. "I'll think about it."


End file.
